Mind over Matter
by Delicate
Summary: Ch. 3: “Did they…do any harm to your person while you were in captivity?” He asked delicately. “Just to my dignity, sir.” I replied stiffly, certain that this man, of all people, was the last person to whom I would divulge the truth. [Tavington x OC]
1. Run

**A/N:** Sigh. What can I say—I love Jason Isaacs...which is the general reasonfor writing this fic.Is Sadie Braddock a Mary-Sue? Well, I don't know. I think she's a likeable, well developed character, but then again, I'm rather biased. Feedback is so, so, so appreciated---so don't be stingy:)

**Disclaimer**: Sadie and the rest of the Braddock's are my own creations—but the rest of the motley crew, including, sadly, Colonel William Tavington swoons are not mine to claim. Tragic, I know.

Mind over Matter

**Summary**: Sadie Braddock was never meant to be anything more than the pampered, bookish, daughter of a British war hero, a sister to a dead brother, and a disappointment to her father. But when she and her father are taken captive by American colonists, Sadie escapes, and must risk everything to save her father's life. Forced to trust the one man her father believes can save him; his protégée, William Tavington, and held hostage in the aristocratic world she has never been comfortable in, Sadie must learn to trust herself—and her heart, and find the courage to discover who she truly is.

**Chapter One**

_Run_

She had lost all feeling in her legs an hour ago, and yet, somehow, she was still moving. Her hands, unused to being subjected to anything more strenuous than turning the pages of a book, were scratched and bleeding, and her exposed face was chapped and raw from the biting cold.

Lost, half frozen, and scared beyond comprehension, the one and only thing that kept her going was her father's last words to her—_keep running until you either find the British or fall over dead. _Comforting, she thought sardonically. Leave it to Edmond Braddock to offer the least useful words of wisdom to his daughter before she left on a jointure to save his life. _Do not let me down Sadie—you are the only hope I have, God have mercy on my poor English soul._ Fatigued as she was, Sadie could still feel the sting of indignation at her father's complete lack of faith in her.

She felt at her bodice, checking that the documents her father had guarded so carefully during their weeks in captivity, and that he had pressed into her hands as she readied herself to make a run for it. _Give these to Colonel William Tavington. Can you remember that name, Sadie? He is the only man you can entrust these to—and the only man I want you to trust with my rescue. Do you understand that? No one else will do—you insist that Cornwallis send Tavington for me._ What this William Tavington person had done to earn her father's unwavering trust, Sadie did not know or care. At that moment, she was more tempted to simply fall to the frozen ground and sleep until spring than to keep running in what was, most likely, a fruitless attempt to find the British troops.

After some time—it could have been minutes or hours or days or weeks—Sadie was too cold and too weak to focus on anything beyond keeping her feet moving northwards—the previously thick woods began to clear. Twenty feet from where Sadie stood, the silent dawn splintered from the tremendous crack of a gunshot. She stopped moving, terror freezing her where she stood. She knew she should run and attempt to hide, but could not quite force her body to move another step.

From the clearing, two soldiers wearing—_thank God_—red coats appeared, and all but jumped in fright when they caught sight of Sadie, who was vaguely aware of how unsettling the sight of her disheveled appearance must be.

"Who goes there?" Shouted one of the officers, his brow furrowing in mild concern at the young woman swaying unsteadily, as if remaining upright were a great effort for her. When she said nothing, only blinked slowly and purposefully, the officers exchanged weary looks, wondering if they had just wandered across a spy or some type of Colonist female lunatic.

"Identify your loyalties, madam!"

From somewhere in the recesses of her mind, and not for the first time, Sadie thought about the stupidity of men to base a war on a person's loyalties, which, surely, were just as subject to change as the seasons.

"God save the King." She managed to choke, and promptly fainted as the soldiers lowered their guns and rushed forward to assist her.


	2. First Impressions

**A/N: **I would really appreciate feedback on my characterization of Tavington—I've found that he is an exceedingly difficult character to write for, and I'd realllllyyyyy like to know what you guys think.

**Disclaimer:** Sadie and her bruised ego/ribs are all mine. Colonel Tavington is not mine, though he wishes differently---

**Tavington**: I beg your pardon, Madam?

**Delicate**: You heard me, William.

**Tavington**: …don't call me that. People will think we are…_friends_

**Delicate**: We are friends!

**Tavington**: I DON'T HAVE FRIENDS.

**Delicate**: ….

**Chapter Two**

_First Impressions_

"This had better be worth my while, Bordon."

The younger officer swallowed nervously as his superior officer stalked past, annoyance emanating from his every gesture. "Forgive me sir—I know the hour is late, but the girl insisted that we …er, fetch you right away."

Colonel William Tavington quirked an eyebrow at his subordinate, a sneer curving his mouth. "And His Majesty's soldiers take orders from women now?"

Bordon flushed and ducked his head. "Yes sir—I mean, no sir—it's just….sir, she says she's Sadie Braddock." A brief flicker of emotion flashed through the Colonel's glacial eyes, but his voice remained impassive. "Indeed. And does she know of her father's whereabouts?"

Bordon gestured for Tavington to follow him down the hallway to where Sadie was resting. "She's been very vague sir—she claims she and her father were being held together, and she escaped sometime yesterday, to help orchestrate his rescue. She also claims to be in possession of certain documents that belong to her father—but she will not relinquish them to myself or any of the other officers, despite our imploring."

Tavington considered this. "And you are inclined to believe her story." Bordon hesitated before answering. "I—I believe she's telling the truth, sir, yes. When we found her, she was very weak—it was obvious she had been out of doors for quite some time, and she's got numerous injuries on her person that would corroborate her story."

"This could also be a very elaborate plot by the colonists." Tavington remarked, and Bordon inclined his head in acquiescence. "It _is_ possible sir—but, might I suggest you meet with the girl? I don't think, after seeing her and speaking with her, you will be able to deny that she is Edmond Braddock's daughter."

Tavington sighed in irritation. "If you are so certain on the matter, Bordon, I hardly see what the logic in waking me was." Bordon smiled ruefully as the two men came to a stop outside of the makeshift infirmary and made to go inside. "My apologies again sir—but the young lady insisted. She says that her father told her to trust no one but you."

Tavington paused, his hand on the doorknob, and glanced over his shoulder at Bordon, his expression unreadable. "Indeed." He said after a moment, sounding mildly startled.

"Sir?"

Tavington sighed and opened the door without further preamble. "Come along then, Bordon, and let us get to the bottom of this."

--

Since the war had started, William Tavington had become what could politely be described as sleep deprived. Less polite company—for example, the gossipmongers that dawdled about Middleton Place, criticizing his tactics and reveling in his victories—labeled him as and insomniac. _Unstable_, was the common adjective spoken in a hushed voice whenever he passed. To him, they were little more than mosquitoes—irritating, but insignificant in the grand scheme of the war.

Sometimes he felt as if he alone understood the importance of what he was trying to accomplish. Still, the fact remained that Tavington had come to regard sleep as more of a luxury than a necessity, and tonight had been one of those rare occasions that were free of tedious balls, the General's biting reprimands, or a midnight raid on a Colonist's home-- and the Colonel did not much appreciate being shaken awaken to interrogate a woman, even if she was Edmond Braddock's daughter.

Tavington strode into Sadie Braddock's room, consoling himself with the thought that, at the very least, Cornwallis would be have to be impressed by the fact that Edmond had specifically requested his daughter trust only _him_.

He was unsure what exactly he had been expecting of the daughter of his mentor—Edmond Braddock spoke infrequently of her, and even less so on the occasions Tavington had encountered him after the death of his only son and heir to the Braddock name, Nicholas—the burgeoning war hero that had been the apple of his father's eye. However, her father had painted a rather unflattering picture of his daughter, complaining of her bookish and clumsy ways, and of her insolent and argumentative temperament. Tavington had never pointed out that the girl had probably inherited most of those traits directly from her father—who, for all his military brilliance, could not dance La Volta if his life depended on it, and was the most quarrelsome man ever to fight under his Majesty's flag.

The woman—the _girl_ he encountered once inside the room, was displaying that particular familial trait to its finest extent, in the form of berating the physician attending to her.

"I've told you already that there's nothing the matter with me—_oh will you stop fussing_! As if I'm going to shatter into a thousand pieces _now_? Please, I just wish to find Colonel Tavington and --"

"Miss Braddock, I presume?" He queried and the girl whirled around, consternation lining her young face prematurely. Under different circumstances, Tavington might have found her attractive. Not an easy compliment, as he was very particular when it came to his women. This girl, this Sadie Braddock, possessed certain aesthetic qualities that, had he not been dog-tired and already disinclined to be aggravated with her, would have intrigued him.

Batting away the physician's hand, Sadie staggered rather awkwardly to her feet, and regarded him carefully, her tone measured and cautious. "Colonel Tavington?" Her voice was hoarse, as if she had grown unaccustomed to using it.

He inclined his head, "At your service, madam." He intoned, only the barest glimmer of sarcasm coloring his words—he did need this girls' cooperation, after all, and it would not hurt him to be polite to her—for the moment, anyway. Sadie came forward; her rather disconcertingly green eyes studying him carefully. "And…you're going to help me? And my father?" She clarified, wincing at her sudden movement and clutching discreetly at her side, lips pressing together as she attempted to keep from crying out in pain.

Tavington forced a tight smile. As always, agitated with anyone who's line of questioning, no matter how appropriate, impeded his own agenda. "Indeed. According to Captain Bordon, you are in possession of certain documents that might help us in that matter?"

"Oh, of course." She said hastily, a little taken aback, but grateful for the swiftness with which he had gotten directly to the crux of the situation. She pulled two folded sheets of paper from her stomacher and handing them over carefully, as if they were extremely fragile.

He broke the seals and strode over to the fireplace to read them more clearly. An uneasy silence descended over the room, Sadie watching the Colonel with an anxious, pained expression on her face, as if keeping silent was an extreme effort for her.

Tavington offered no verbal explanations for what was enclosed in the documents, and his expression similarly betrayed nothing. He read each document twice, before re-folding them and tucking them into his jacket, and turning to fix his gaze on Sadie. "You have not read these?" Sadie blinked, and glanced at Borden briefly before answering. "Obviously not, as they were _sealed_." She pointed out, her voice purposely slow, with a bite of the very insolence her father had warned Tavington about in his letter.

"And you had no previous knowledge as to what was contained in these letters?"

Sadie's eyes narrowed and Tavington saw Borden cringe, as he always did, when Tavington's blatant disregard for courtesy became clear. _Less than five minutes_, Tavington thought, the briefest bit of amusement flickering through his mind at the sight of Sadie Braddock's affronted face.

"I have just said as much, Colonel." She said carefully, and he could tell she was making an effort to keep her temper in check. Tavington considered her for a moment. She looked a complete mess; her hair was in disarray, she was still clutching painfully at her side, her movements were awkward, hindered, he supposed, by a sprained ankle she had sustained in her escape attempt, and there were dark circles under her eyes, belaying the exhaustion that the brightness in her eyes and the readiness in her stance hid.

"Very well then, Miss Braddock—we will be riding out in ten minutes time for Lord Cornwallis' estate—it isn't too far from here. I suggest you ready yourself if you wish to go with us." The girl's face paled at the thought of being on horseback, and Tavington sneered unhelpfully. "You _can_ ride, can't you, Madam?"

Sadie frowned at him, slowly becoming aware that, even if her father had instructed her to trust Colonel Tavington, clearly they were not going to become fast friends. Still, she couldn't let them leave her here, not while her father still needed her help. _I hope you appreciating this, old man._ She thought morosely, knowing, of course, that her father rarely appreciated anything she did.

"Of course, Colonel. I will be with you shortly." She said, as politely as she could. He nodded and left without further ado, already tired of dealing with her. Borden bowed a bit more graciously and grinned at her in a slightly apologetic manner before scurrying after his superior officer, leaving Sadie alone, with bruised ribs, a bum ankle, and the prospect of several hours on horseback looming ahead of her.

"Fantastic. Just _fantastic._" She grumbled, grabbing her scant belongings and limping from the room.


	3. Bravado

**3. **_Bravado_

"My nod is as false as my smile. I'm… not brave. I don't know how to be brave. I'm scared _all the time_. Could someone tell me how to do it? There _is_ a secret to it, something other people know and I don't. There are secrets to everything, and no one has told them to me."

--

I won't lie. He was an attractive sort of man—this Colonel I'd been instructed to trust so blindly and totally (my father suggested this as if it were such an easy, negotiable thing to give, my trust, my insubstantial trust) with my life and the life of my father.

It was rather a pity about his personality, though, which had all the range of a puddle, and oscillated between dignified apathy and supreme agitation, both of which I had already experienced quite thoroughly in the span of the thirty odd minutes we had been in each other's company.

I have never been much of a horse rider, much to my father's chagrin. Once it became an established fact that I was never going to be the refined debutante and charming hostess that my mother had been, he had handed me over to my brother, who was the consummate sportsman—a skilled huntsman and rider, in the hopes that if I could not be a lady, I might at least be well rounded. Poor Nicholas, he did his best, but ten minutes into my first encounter with a horse, I was thrown, screeching like a banshee into a creek that ran the breadth of our estate. After that disaster, he took pity on me, and whenever father insisted I practice riding, Nicholas usually allowed me to hide out under a tree with a book and an apple, which was much more preferable to me.

Horses have always struck me as terrifying—the idea of riding on something with that much willpower and self-awareness has always seemed to be a bit dodgy to me, and the current beast I was riding was no exception. The color of gunmetal, with large, intelligent eyes and a haughty expression, it had taken all my courage and the loss of my dignity to mount the animal without crying in sheer panic. "Not quite as accomplished a rider as your late brother, Miss Braddock?" Queried the Colonel lightly, plainly enjoying himself. I flushed at the jibe and clung to my reins for dear life, swaying precariously in the saddle as the horse took a sharp turn. "Not quite." I replied through clenched teeth. Privately, I felt that if the Colonel or my brother were forced to ride sidesaddle, wearing a dress, they would not have such an easy time of it either.

"Middleton Place isn't far, Miss. Only a few hours ride from the camp." Bordon supplied cheerfully as he rode past, and I forced a smile in return, fighting down the urge to slap the helpfulness right off his face. Colonel Tavington, obviously irritated with my awkward, slow canter, urged his own horse onwards, leaving me to lag behind on my own accord. Honestly, wasn't he supposed to be protecting me? What was I to do if a Continental leapt out of the bushes at me? Fall off my horse in a panic? Oh, _that_ would teach those dreadful Colonists, I'm sure.

I stared moodily after my 'protector' for a moment, and felt something that, in my previous haze of confusion and panic I had somehow missed, click into place in my mind. I dug my heels into the horse's sides the way I had seen the Colonel do, but instead of breaking into an easy trot, the wretched animal took off at full tilt, and I caught another glimpse of amusement on the Colonel's face as I went flying past him. Bored with his run, the horse came to an abrupt and sudden stop, and it was only by the grace of God, who, I imagine, thought I had suffered enough humiliation for one day, that I managed to hang on and forgo being pitched, head first, into a tree.

I cleared my throat, righted myself, and glanced back at the Colonel, as if this had been my full intention all along, and waited until he was beside me before I timidly kicked my horse into motion again. We continued through the woods silently for a few minutes before I summoned the courage to speak.

"You're Will aren't you?" Tavington's eyes flicked sideways at me briefly, before turning to insure that none of his subordinates had heard me refer to him thusly. "My first name _is_ William, madam." He conceded slowly, obviously wondering where this was going. I smiled at his response, momentarily distracted from trying to disengage my horse from the plant he had paused to munch on. Honestly. Stupid animal.

"It's just that I've heard my father talk about you. I didn't realize before—you're the man he trained to take over for him as commander of the Green Dragoons. He…he regards you very highly, Colonel." At these last words, some emotion beyond apathy and agitation crossed his face. It, naturally, lasted only briefly (I was learning fast that the Colonel was not exactly what you might call a sentimental man) but it was still nice to see the capacity of some feeling in this bear of a man.

"Your father is a very great man, Miss Braddock. It was…an honor to serve him." His words were clipped and civil, but I could tell the mention of my father's praise meant quite a lot to him. Silence descended over us again, broken only by my muffled protestations when my horse started lazily chasing his own tail. After I had somehow managed to point him back in the desired direction, the Colonel spoke to me again.

"Miss Braddock, I need for you to tell me exactly what happened when you and your father were captured."

_Run, Sadie. _

I blinked and forced myself to think back three weeks—had it really only been three weeks? It felt as if we had arrived in this godforsaken place an eternity ago. "My father received a summons from Lord Cornwallis two months ago, requesting my father's help here in North Carolina--" Was it my imagination, or did this news seem to agitate the Colonel? Nonplussed, I continued. "—originally, I was against it—my father isn't as young as he once was, Colonel, and his heart has been grieving him as of late, and of course I was not too keen on the idea of abandoning my life—" Hah, my life. Now that is a laugh—truth be told, I simply hated the idea of travel. After Nicholas died, I came to hate the idea of change, period. Tavington cleared his throat, indicating that the humanistic details of my story could be edited out.

"—er, anyway. We arrived at the port in Charlestown three weeks ago, and were met by Lord Cornwallis' personal soldiers, who were to accompany my father and myself, as well as our servants, to the General's estate at Middleton." And they had been a snobby lot, if I remembered correctly. Obsequious little toads they were, fawning over my father, rude to the servants, and indifferent to me. Tavington nodded, looking bored.

"We had only been on the road a few hours—we were in a field, a cotton field, and it was blisteringly hot—right around midday—when these…men just appeared before us." I paused for effect, and glanced over at Tavington, who looked thoroughly unimpressed. "These men that just _appeared_ before you," He drawled, making me blush again, "were they militia?" I shook my head, and he looked slightly disappointed. "No—they were Continental regulars, but there were only a handful of them, and they looked very ragged. My father seemed to think they were a rogue band of deserters that had split from the rest of the army." _Damned deserters. Not like your brother, not like my brave boy—dying for his country. _Poor father. Everything reminded him of Nicholas these days.

"They--" My voice shook here and Tavington watched me, rather impatiently, waiting for me to continue. "—it all happened so quickly. They shot the soldiers." It was the first time I had ever seen men die with my own two eyes, and no matter what I did, when I lay down to sleep at night, it was always that scene that re-played, over and over, in my mind.

"And your servants?" Tavington asked dispassionately. I shut my eyes briefly, and when I spoke, my voice was hushed from the painful memories. "The shot them as well." My nursemaid that had been with us since mother died, father's manservant—seven people, seven human beings that I cared for and that had taken care of me, and that knew me better than my own father—dead. Gone. And I had been unable to help them. He nodded again, and I realized that I hated this man—he cared not at all for what I had been through—he just wanted details to supply the Lord General with.

"They burned our wagon, captured my father and I, and blindfolded us both. We walked for many hours—and they took us to a…I believe it was an abandoned fort of some kind." I could see him mentally checking the number of abandoned forts in our vicinity, and I thought of something my father had said, years ago, when Tavington had replaced him in the Dragoons; _Whip smart man, that Will. Never met anyone brighter than him—not an ounce of compassion in him. Makes for a good commander._ A good commander, maybe, but a pitiable human being.

"Did they…do any harm to your person while you were in captivity?" He asked delicately, and I felt my cheeks flame. "Just to my dignity, sir." I replied stiffly, certain that this man, of all people, was the last person to whom I would divulge the truth.

"And your father?"

I bit my lip. "They treated him…very poorly, I'm afraid, Colonel. He was rather…uh, vocal in his displeasure of their treatment towards me. I believe one of his legs is badly injured, but they refused to let me try and tend to his wound." I turned my face away so that he would not see the tears starting in my eyes.

When I looked back at him, he was staring straight ahead, his jaw set in such a manner that I had already learned indicated anger. "How was it you escaped, Miss Braddock?" He asked after a few minutes. I looked down at my hands and the deep scratches that gouged into my palms. Careful reminders of where I had come from. As if I could ever forget. I took a deep breath. "My father had been planning this since our capture, sir—I think he intended to go himself, originally, before his leg was injured. We were kept in separate rooms, and only allowed to see each other for a few minutes every day—and I was guarded less heavily than my father was. Last night, my father caused some sort of distraction that took the guards away from my room, and I broke a window and climbed down the wall." _Fell_ down the wall would have been a more accurate description, but I didn't think Tavington needed to know that. I held out my hands to corroborate my story, which he merely glanced at, unmoved, before he continued his questioning.

"And you just…started running?" I nodded, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "I did, sir. My father told me that the British troops were most likely stationed North---so I just started running in that general direction until I happened upon two of our soldiers." Story done, I waited for some type of reaction and received none. I was beginning to recognize this as a pattern.

"Colonel Tavington, my father is a very important man." He glanced at me, eyebrows quirked. "I _am_ aware of this, madam." He had a rather incredible talent for making me feel completely daft every time I opened my mouth. "I just…was curious as to why his ransom has not been paid. Whatever the price, surely it isn't too high? We have money of our own that could--" He cut me off impatiently.

"Miss Braddock, do you know what your father's ransom is?" I shook my head, and he smiled grimly, shaking his head. "They will return your father to us—unharmed—only if General Cornwallis agrees to surrender." I gaped at him in disbelief. "But…that's lunacy! They can't really expect that he would agree to those terms."

Tavington nodded. "No, they do not expect him to agree. Miss Braddock, they are looking for an excuse to execute your father." His blunt words clubbed at my already frayed senses, and my stomach turned over on itself. Had I eaten anything in the past day, I most likely would have been sick, right then and there. "But…why would they want to do such a thing?" I asked faintly. Tavington shrugged. "Any number of reasons, really. As you yourself pointed out, Miss Braddock, your father is a very important man. A public execution of such a high ranking officer, not to mention a man held in such high esteem by his troops, would be quite a blow to the morale of the army."

I digested this slowly, staring ahead stonily for a moment. "But you're going to get him back, aren't you?" I demanded, a slight note of hysteria in my voice. Tavington pursed his lips. "I will…certainly do my best. Thus far, I have not had a single failure in my military career, Miss Braddock." His assurance alleviated the grip of the iron fist on my heart ever so slightly, and I nodded.

"I thank you, Colonel." I said, with all the sincerity I could muster. He may have been a cruel man, but I would sing his praises from now until Doomsday if he returned my father to me alive.

Having said everything necessary, we lapsed into silence for the remainder of the ride, and did not speak again until Middleton Place—beautiful, blessed civility—loomed before us. "I may have neglected to mention, Miss Braddock…the Lord General was so…_ecstatic_ when he received word of your safety, he has ordered for a ball to be held in your honor. Tonight." My face must have betrayed my sheer horror at this idea, for the Colonel smirked and cast a disdainful eye over my ruined dress and tangled hair.

"You might want to think about finding a different outfit to wear." With that, he spurred his horse into a gallop across the bountiful green landscape that this country was so famous for, towards Middleton Place, which I already knew would be chock-full of rich, beautiful people, who expected me, the daughter of Edmond Braddock, the war hero, the philosopher, to be just as interesting and fabulous as he was. My captivity with the American's was over, and now I entered a new kind of captivity—one that has plagued my steps since childhood. Only now, I would not be chained by ropes, or guarded by Colonists with muskets. My chains would be garish dresses (the bigger and more extravagant, the better), and my guard is my own foolish tongue—which never manages to say the right thing at the right time.

--

A/N: All right…so I know not a whole lot actually happened in this chapter, but I felt that it was necessary in terms of character development. Sadie and Tavington have a lot to learn from each other—one can only hope that they can stop being stubborn long enough to do some actual learning. )

Disclaimer: Blah dee blah, I don't own any of the hot little Brits.

**Tavington:** I've been requested to ask that you all review. Or else I will stab you. With my sword. Did I mention that I have a sword?

**Authoress:** You also have a poofy hat.

**Tavington: **…are you _insulting_ The Hat, madam?

**Authoress:** Of course not! I love your cute little poofy hat.

**Tavington:** I hate you.

But Tavvy's right---review, kiddies, review! There's a Tavington hug in it for everyone that does…

**Tavington**: EXCUSE ME? I do not _do_ hugs. I do _stabbings._ And...and…church burnings.


End file.
